


Here at the end of all things

by sarensen



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, M/M, Soft Kylux, also canon divergent, based on fanart, kylo loves him so so much, pretentious metaphors (sorry), rare affectionate hux
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:52:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,018
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9797255
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarensen/pseuds/sarensen
Summary: The dull silence of the cosmos spreads itself once again across the dead world, a blanket and a veil pressing onto their chests. Kylo fits himself to Hux’s warm back and for long moments they stand together in silence, while galaxies wheel overhead and stars die and are reborn in the great cogs of the universe and around them, the sibilant whispers of the Force speak of fire and ruin.---Based onthis artbylittleststarfighter.





	

Sometimes, Kylo thinks Hux was made for Winter: stiff posture and straight lines, angular and cold, skin pale as the last frost with smudges of red blooming on each cheek; a statue of copper and ice.

Rather more accurately, he considers from where he leans in the doorway to watch, maybe Winter was made for Hux.

The stars draw a line of twilight around his silhouette where he stands at the very edge of the compound, hands folded in front of him, back straight, staring out at the night-shrouded plains of Starkiller Base. His breath billows in little white clouds in front of him. Dark blues and purples and shimmering silvers paint the Winter's night, a perfect backdrop to the black of his coat and the copper of his hair and the pale, pale pink of his lips.

Hux stands silent sentry over the annihilation of planets, and before him Winter trembles.

It's too late now for company. The base slumbers; the dreams of one thousand soldier-souls drift quietly into the ether. And in the frozen quiet it's as if the entire planet shudders with Hux's every exhale, the fate of entire worlds a story of unwritten providence in each breath. The Force curls like dark smoke around his feet, an omen of imminent death.

As always, he somehow knows Kylo is watching, though quiet blankets the world in shades of cotton and ice and Kylo has made no sound to announce his presence.

"To what do I owe the honour, Ren."

He's been summoned, so Kylo steps out and walks toward him, boots crunching softly in the snow.

He tries, "Just came to admire the view." and drapes his arms over Hux's shoulders, rests his cheek against his wrist and wishes things between them were such that he could lean forward and kiss his cheek.

Hux scoffs: "Yes. It does have it's charm."

Kylo murmurs: "I wasn't talking about the Base."

He was talking about the fire of Hux's hair and the heat of his conviction, hot enough to melt the snow of the world. He was talking about the way Hux's brow scrunches up when Kylo slides into him, the way he stays quiet until he suddenly doesn't, and moans as if entire galaxies die and come back to life inside of him. He's talking about the burn of him, the searingscratchingblood-filled ecstasy of trying to keep him, to contain him, to hold him; a feat which the weakness of Kylo and the tired, resigned apathy of him could never hope to accomplish.

The moon rises over Starkiller Base and turns distant snowy mountains into peaks of glittering crystal. Overhead a comet tears open the night.

(There is no life left on this planet but what they brought, everything torn down and burnt down and razed in the name of conquest, in the name of Snoke, and in the name of Hux's insatiable thirst for glory. Kylo thinks: _this planet and every planet. For you, I would raze a galaxy._ )

Hux's shoulders shift under Kylo's forearms as he turns to him with a derisive look. Light stubble dusts his cheek; he hasn't shaved since the morning. It's a good look on him.

It's quiet enough to hear the deep rumble of the planet's mechanical heart beneath their feet, a portent of death.

Kylo leans forward. Hux's lips are chapped, his nose cold where it brushes Kylo's cheek. He tastes like cigarette smoke and caf.

In the distance, snow slips off a tree branch, crashing to the ground.

Their breaths mist between them when they break, damp and warm. Hux watches him with an unreadable expression, hands still folded in front of him. A cold wind stirs Kylo's hair, whipping strands of it over his cheek. Hux turns away from the upturned corner of Kylo's lips.

The dull silence of the cosmos spreads itself once again across the dead world, a blanket and a veil pressing onto their chests. Kylo fits himself to Hux's warm back and for long moments they stand together in silence, while galaxies wheel overhead and stars die and are reborn in the great cogs of the universe and around them, the sibilant whispers of the Force speak of fire and ruin.

(In time, Kylo will come to treasure these scarce occasions of Hux's softness, as rare as kyber and infinitely more valuable.)

Eventually, he grows tired of waiting, and wonders, "What were you looking at?"

Hux says, simply, "Death."

"Who are you talking to?" Leia interrupts from somewhere behind, "Ben?"

And Kylo blinks slowly, and when he opens his eyes again it's not the starlit cold of Starkiller Base that greets him but sunlight and green and the glint of X-wings on the airfield and the sound of laughter and plates clinking inside.

And instead of embracing Hux he embraces only the memory of him, a vision of the past so vivid and real that he can still smell the soapleathercaf scent of him, taste the warm softness of his skin on his lips.

The memory drifts away like a handful of ashes on the warm breeze.

Kylo says, "No one."

Leia comes to stand next to him. She pours into Hux's absence like bright yellow paint, blurring it with the pastel colors of regret.

Kylo blinks again and reaches up to wipe his cheek with the heel of his palm.

"Come back inside," Leia half asks.

When Kylo doesn't answer, she sighs, ducking down to meet his downturned gaze. "You have to let him go. You're home now. It's not healthy to obsess." She reaches up to touch his cheek, fingertips dipping lightly into the ridges of his scar.

He turns away from her, from the bright and loud of his new life, away from the enduring forgiveness in his mother's eyes.

Behind him, Leia says, "You can't bring him back."

The sun beats down on him, glaring on concrete and glass. Inside, male voices suddenly cheer, words blurred by drink and elation.

Kylo says, "I know."

Snow and cold and twilight trail in his wake as he walks back inside.

**Author's Note:**

> Based on [this absolutely phenomenal art](http://littleststarfighter.tumblr.com/post/156082103542/to-what-do-i-owe-the-honour-ren-just-came-to) by [littleststarfighter](http://littleststarfighter.tumblr.com), compared to which my writing feels woefully inadequate. (First part of the dialogue also belongs to them.)


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